


For What It's Worth

by blanketspace



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha!Aranea, Alpha!Gladio, Alpha!Ignis, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Beta!Cindy, Brief mentions of infertility, Cindy/Aranea if you squint, Dialogue Heavy, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, Hand Jobs, Knotting, M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Masturbation, Omega Verse, Pack Dynamics, Pining, Scent Marking, There Can Be Only One, alpha!Noctis, brief mentions of m!preg, i literally have no idea what i'm doing in this au okay, not so hidden social commentary, omega!Prompto, pre chapter 9, somewhat hidden identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2018-11-03 08:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10963146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketspace/pseuds/blanketspace
Summary: The bubbling pain and blood splotching on his face clear his head enough to look back at the three sprawled on the bed, eyeing him with a vexing interest.  And it’s then that he remembers his previous, unfinished revelation.He never told them he’s an Omega.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> in which prompto made a bad life choice a long time ago. no beta, we die like men ( unless someone in the future would like to offer )

If two words had to describe Prompto Argentum, they would be “carelessly cautious”. An oxymoron, of course, but one that seemingly suited him in the early waking hours of the morning, sheltered and warm amongst hotel sheets and cushiony pillows. He takes in stride the overabundance of worry that his anxiety provides, decorating him with an arsenal of tactics, facial expressions, and most importantly – _excuses_. Such as the reason why he didn’t take his suppressants the other night, something he had been completely loyal about since high school. He could simply chirrup the classic, “I forgot” or the ever mindfully vigilant, “They upset my stomach”. None of them really worked, none of them really offered him with the personal comfort nestled in the back of his mind. 

And it’s only too late does he realize this, bleary eyes blinking open and a suddenly shift in warmth that calls to question a prone form – no, _three_ forms, settled heavily against his body, a nose nuzzling beneath his ear, warm lips tickling against a bare collarbone, and a strong hand passing over his hip near where a head lay heavy against.   He shivers, fully aware of the warmth curling in the bottom of his body, slipping around to scald up his back where a heartbeat thunders against.  Noctis, innately and utterly Noctis, who breathes against the column of his neck.  

“Prom,” a hazy groan, nose tipping up to brush against the shell of his ear, “– you always smell this good?” 

A groan slips out before he can help it, another voice filling the increasingly humid space. The lips on his chest move, peppering delicate interest with enough fire to make him melt. Ignis. “Mhm, new soap perhaps. We did all finally get a much needed bath, but it seems Prompto benefited from it the most.”   

He wiggles once, hands coming up to clasp at the sandy brunette’s shoulders. Whether to keep him in place or push him away, he’s not entirely sure, but the sweat taking to his skin at the contact clouds his mind.  Fingers hitching against the line of his boxers, however, bring an acute awareness within a moment. 

“Shit, Chocobo, this is gonna come off fucking weird but I kinda want to—” The gruff voice could only belong the the bulwark of their group and Prompto’s gaze flickers down to see a stubbly cheek pressed on the less than ample curve of his waist and callused fingers playing with the waistband of his shorts.   

From behind, “Eat him?” 

Along his chest, “Nothing so uncouth yet…”  

A coil of molten fervor snaps in his belly and he keens a little too loud. It’s all it takes for him to feel the trickle of fear dripping down his throat, though, enough of a panic of what’s transpiring. His friends’ revelations, curiosities, and wandering hands coupled with his own stupidity give him enough strength to shove between and scurry away from the bed in a near stupid panic.  His foot catches in the sheets and freckled face meets the rough brush of the carpet, scraping surface skin with a wildly red abrasion.  

The bubbling pain and blood splotching on his face clear his head enough to look back at the three sprawled on the bed, eyeing him with a vexing interest.  And it’s then that he remembers his previous, unfinished revelation.

He never told them he’s an Omega.

 

* * *

 

_“Wait, Omegas can hide what they are?”_

_It’s before school and Noctis’s mouth is full of cereal, an incredulous expression on his face, milk dribbling down his chin. Prompto wonders if Ignis will tut and titter over something like talking with his mouth full. Probably, but Prompto doesn’t hear it. Instead, he waits for the older Alpha’s answer, nails bitten between pearly teeth in what he hopes looks like idle boredom and not apprehension._

_Ignis’s sigh fills the room, hands ceasing their fussing over messy plates to toss a napkin in the direction of the messy Prince.  “Yes, provided that they take their suppressants regularly and perhaps even preemptively. Omegas are only dictated and displayed by their heats. Otherwise, they function and scent like Betas would. If an Omega never goes into heat, why perhaps would anyone know what they are save for blood or genetic testing? So, if an Omega never tells you they are one or if you are not intimate with one nor do they go into heat around you, why would you ever know?”_

_He doesn’t mean it as a question to answer, that much Prompto knows. But Ignis’s brows are raised and he’s peering at his Regent, expecting some sort of lackluster acceptance to his explanation. Pure, unadulterated logic._

_“Yeah, I get that but like… Alphas don’t have that. I mean, we have ruts and those can’t be helped.”_

_Here they go._

_“Actually, Alphas can prevent their ruts though it’s far less… Accepted. The suppressant we could use aren’t in pill or tablet form but rather an injection. And at the very least, the medical advancements towards such a formula are rather lacking. Most of the medical industry does not see a problem with Alphas and their ruts, thinking it’s simply not our job to prevent our innate nature. However, at the same time, Omegas are responsible for their heats and it’s expected of them to control themselves despite Alphas being far more violent and aggressive in our ruts.”_

_“What’s that like? I mean, like, the injection,” Prompto murmurs. Entering the conversation now seems like a horrendous idea, but staying quiet and listening to the two young Alphas go back and forth without participating seems like an even worse idea.  Noct would maybe make commentary on why he’s so quiet and even worse, Ignis might agree._

_Yet full attention is turned to him, vibrant green eyes barely blinking as a calm explanation is delivered.   “Apparently the side effects leave something to be desired. Stupor, dry mouth, lethargy. Some have described it as feeling blank or empty, without purpose or energy, that there is no concrete thought or drive. Others have claimed it made them weak, gave them tremors, or they couldn’t eat.  Soreness and redness at the injection site, sometimes infection. And at the most severe, an allergic reaction that more or less leaves the Alpha in a state of mental incapacity. “_

_Noctis swallows another mouth full of soggy cereal._

_“So why should Alphas even bother to take it then? I mean, if those side effects are that bad.”_

_“Let me ask you this, Noctis, why should Omegas bare the entire weight of responsibility when and if both parties are directly affected?"_

_“I mean; I guess they shouldn’t.”_

_The blond can see the hesitation written on his friend’s face, a pensive expression as his spoon slips down into the bowl half filled with milk and partial now inflated crumbs floating atop._

_“Exactly.”_

 

* * *

 

“Prom— “

“Prompto— “

“Choco— “  

They all start at once, Noctis’s hand reaching for his tangled foot, fingers trailing along the beginning bumps of his toes.  Far less helpful than Ignis who has already begun to unravel the sheet that keeps him captive while Gladio slips down to the floor next to him, eying the scuff weeping on his cheek.

Prompto bats their hands away frantically 

“Listen, guys, I’m … I’m _fine_. Maybe we should just… Sit and – _Hey_ , no touching!”  The previous non-verbal message hadn’t sunk in, his best friend allowing his hand to wander the length of a sculpted calf. Jerking his leg free, blue eyes watch as the young Prince recoils, flustered and shocked but keenly listening.   

Fine. What a joke. He’s anything but fine. The tingling quaking in his bones, the churning of his stomach, and the aching warmth pooling in his lower back speak of anything but fine.  He should have had a few more weeks, maybe even just one, but curiosity got the better of him. What would it be like just skip a day of his suppressants? Maybe not feel like his heart was going to explode from palpitations or the ball in his throat whittling down to a marble size of anxiety instead. Stupid, moron, idiot – all those things, carelessly cautious, describe Prompto Argentum in this moment, who could not have picked a worse time to accidently come out to his friends.

His _Alpha_ friends.

 It wasn’t even his choice. Well, in theory it was, but this?  The shift of his thighs and the carmine tinting his face as familiar earthy and heady scents fill his head -- shit, he never noticed them that much before. Alphas smell like wood fire, wool, and spice. Like lazy comfort in a cold winter or they do at least.   

Mutiny. His body is committing mutiny.  Or going into Heat, if one is of the clinical mind. He much prefers the abhorrent disobeying term right now.   

Ignis starts, tongue clucking and moving slightly on the bed, but more or less staying put. “ – You’re an Omega.” Always the fast one, quick witted, and easy to ascertain a situation. 

“Wait, Prom’s a – “ 

His mouth opens and shuts. 

“How did we never notice? After all this time, you’d think Princess here would know that his best friend is an Omega."

The conversation continues without him, lips smushing and pressing together in a thin white line. 

“Tch, like it would matter either way. But really, how didn’t we…" 

“Suppressants, I would imagine. Which begs the question, why now, unless he’s forgotten to take them.”

Three pairs of eyes train on him, more intently than before. The look is different this time. Longing is still there, a lidded expectation that this situation could go several ways. None of which he particularly wants, but if he had to pick – probably the less judging, less screaming, less fussy option that might have him ended up pinned and writhing between them. 

No. No, don’t get distracted. Not right now. Not –

Prompto whimpers, nose scrunching and he hears in booming echo the sharp intake of breath around him, the unintentional bidden growls.

“It’s not that I forgot,” the answer comes a little too quick, a little too stuttered, “– I just… I didn’t think I’d have enough until we made it until the next city. And I counted my days, I thought I’d be in the clear, especially if we were leaving today. I shouldn’t be… Be going into.” _Don’t say it, don’t you dare, Prompto_ , “ – Heat.”

His gaze drops to the carpet, engrossed on the mild stain his skin left. Oxidized blood turns brown after a time, a lesson from Ignis, and it’s all he wants to recall right now between the silence pervading the space around all of them. Thinking of classes, thinking of high school, thinking of when he planned things like this far better. 

Sheets rustle, a pair of pale legs swinging over the side of the bed and a bare foot nudges his knee. Noctis, sweet comfort and soft, confused tone,  “ Prom, why didn’t you tell us…”

Gladio answers before he can, huffing.  “He wouldn’t have been accepted into the Crownsguard. Omegas can’t serve, too much of a liability.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the warrior leaning against the side of the bed, one leg propped up and arm resting across his thigh, golden gaze transfixed on his little, shaking figure.  Liability. Did he have to use that word? Probably.  A coded sense of duty and instruction bred into the Shield to serve and protect his future King.  Nothing could get in the way of that, nothing could be a distraction. And around three unmarried, unpaired Alphas? An unmarked Omega going into heat had to be the top tier of horrendous scenarios.    

“Doesn’t matter,” Ignis’s voice comes clear and crisp from the other side of the bed. When did he move? Didn't matter, doesn't matter, not when a question invokes a bit of a command,   “Prompto, your suppressants?” 

“My bag, uh, in the pouch where I keep my camera film,”  a meek answer, teeth chattering and shoulders shifting as far as they can into the opposite edge of the other bed.   

He watches as the other goes to get them, rustling quickly and effectively. It takes but a moment before he’s presented with a sheet of foil and white capsules

“You will take these and you will let us know when you’re feeling better.”  The sound of plastic popping gives him pause, slim fingers holding a singular pill up to his lips.  “ – But we are not staying while you’re like this.” He can hear Noctis moving to protest but the hand of the Advisor not holding his medication raises to silence the petulant, younger Alpha. “For us to stay here any longer, especially considering that your heat has only just started and the worst has yet to come, would be unwise and incredibly dangerous for you. “  

“But what if I want -- “  

Ignis presses the pill more firmly against his lips, urging him to take it. And he does, tongue slipping out to graze and swallow the offered sense of peace, though the flutter of eyelashes and parting lips of the other is something he doesn’t miss. 

Clearing his throat, Ignis continues, “Going into heat is not consent for an Alpha to do as they wish. You need a clear head to make those decisions and I’m afraid we are all beginning to lack in that department.  Gladio and I will take Noctis on a hunt or two. Phone us when you’re finished.  The room will be paid up in full for as long as you need it. “

Noctis moves off the bed with a creak , “ What if I want to stay?” 

Harsh fingers move to grab a bony wrist and Prompto hears the snap of flesh against flesh. Gladio growls as he rises, something in his tone itching for a fight,  “Not an option, Princess. Unlike you, Iggy and I can handle ourselves but we’d rather not. You don’t have much experience in this department. So, lets put some clothes on and get going. You and Prompto will thank us later.”       

A last look spares itself between Noctis and Prompto before the older makes to listen.  The gunslinger swears it's physical pain that courses through his body as two of the familiar scents leave his proximity. 

It doesn’t take them long to get ready, urgent movements quickening with each passing second as Prompto can feel his body twisting and contorting into a needless, pitiable want. It’ll be at least three hours before the suppressant does anything. Toes curl into near barren carpet, teeth now working the bottom tier of his lip and his boxers feel all too constricting against the swell between his thighs. 

Again, Ignis breaks the haze, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple, lingering perhaps a bit too long.  “Lock the door when we leave,” he utters, swallowing and barely nosing a sandy hairline. A mewl passes over his tongue and he feels the other still against his hair, “– and we’ll talk about this when we return. There will have to be some explanation on your part and…. _Calculations_ for what to do next.”  

“Iggy, this doesn’t change…” Needy, he reaches to hook his fingers in the buttons of a well pressed shirt, tipping a man so carefully balanced above him closer to his mouth.

He could practically die the way the other’s mouth barely grazes his own, shuddering breath and restraint aching behind each second. Another pulse and he quakes, wanting, wishing with little tethered control.  Ignis growls, nipping at his mouth, “–I’m afraid it does, Prompto. “  

The comfort of the other is gone before he knows it, a shocking notion that leaves him shaking on the floor yet again and click of the door shutting and the echoing of gruff arguments on the other side of it is what he's left with.

Prompto shifts uncomfortably on the hotel floor, looking over at the dilapidated mess of their bed and clothes, the now empty foil of his prescription next to him. He sighs wearily, nails biting into his thighs as he tries everything to not indulge the fervor cooking in his veins.

That could have gone better.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I'd toss my hat into the ring for that whole a/b/o concept. I like it, but I like the commentary it makes more than anything else. I will warn you all right now, I'm adhering to the notion that Prompto can only, and I mean only, mate with one Alpha. Feel free to take bets on who you think it might be. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys where I'm going with this, please comment if you do! I'm hoping to continue this if it gets enough of a reception though I doubt it'll be too long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Advisor rolls up the unbuttoned cuffs of his sleeves, tucking and smoothing over creases before pushing off the door. A glance sparing between the other two men and their continued diatribe; life lesson here, life lesson there, and Noctis being completely over the amount of those he’s been getting lately. It might have been humorous had it not been true. 
> 
> Floorboards creak beneath ripped carpet as he steps past them.
> 
> They don’t have time to dawdle.

Shutting a door never seemed such an arduous task, the click of the lock deafening, and the cry that follows behind it had been gut wrenching.  Part of them evidently strains in the aftermath of that noise, limbs twitching, eyes shifting to see who might move first, and heavy swallows bobbing adam’s apples.  The hallway of the hotel hums with a din lilt of the fluorescent bulbs burning above, a mockery of the noise floating in their minds and dancing along their skin.  To say they weren’t affected, to say that they weren’t each wondering how quickly they could shove the others out of the way and lock themselves behind that door to drown out those whines with their hands, their lips, their tongues, their coc—

Gloves snap firmly on, a quick buckle and adjustment. Gazes that had been locked on the floor and the empty space between the wall and the door frame fall on Ignis, who clears his throat and rests his back against the door.  He must appear as some unholy, horrendous version of a gatekeeper, peering at the other two near unblinking.  A dare, if one might be so far pressed, offering itself to try to move past him.

Gladio’s smarter than that, even with the tense of his jaw at the noise of another cry. 

Noctis, on the other hand, shudders and his jaw tilts up gently with his own soft whine.

Ignis, however, has always considered himself a practical man. A man who is cultured, holding many interests, pristine manners, and above all, unshakable self-control. Even so, if he were to speculate beyond the mere construct he’s made for himself, he would still be but a man – a man whose bloodline and breeding dictated another inconsolable innate nature.   

Shoulders shift against the barren wood, flakes of paint fluttering to the ground in a dilapidated manner. He knows that he should move, knows that he should stick to his promise to his Omeg—to _Prompto_ , a boy with sandy sunshine hair and a smattering of freckles that if pressed, Ignis could count the stars in, and eyes brimming wide like oceans at high tide. Glossy poetic prose suited him, suited Prompto in this instance. That boy; he smelled like the sea, warm sand, and sweeter things. 

Sorbet, he thought of first.  A little tart but sweet with the right edge of a savory decadence that left one feeling refreshed. 

His teeth find his lip, biting down for a moment, collecting himself as his hands push back against the door that holds him upward. 

Every Alpha scents an Omega differently. It’s an interpretation at its basic understanding. What attracts them, what appeals to them, what would make them coo and writhe in the aftermath. Whether or not Prompto knows it, he’s unintentionally trying to attract all three of them and his intimate knowledge of them doesn’t help their situation anymore.  Ignis is sure that Prompto knows his fondness for desserts, the careful knowledge it takes to craft both visual and taste.  As he’s sure that Prompto knows of what Gladio prefers and as he does Noctis, which makes it ever more tantalizing for all parties. 

Ever more dangerous.   

His nose crinkles and a hand finally comes up to push the bridge of thinly wired frames up.

 “We should go.”  Another whimper from behind the door but he hears it lock. Finality at it’s finest. They wouldn’t bother to break it down, not unless one of them spontaneously went into a rut.  Though, at this point, Ignis would hardly be surprised.    

“So, wait a second, we’re just going to leave him?”  Noctis’ undying loyalty to his friend is beyond the bounds, tantamount and steadfast.  In any other scenario, Ignis might have suggested one of them stay to watch, linger yet what writhed beyond that door increasing vocalization might be too tempting to stay on the other side.     

The Shield seems to share in his thought process, dropping a heavy hand onto their Prince’s shoulder. Firm fingers tighten in dark shirt cloth. Not to harm, not to force, merely to assuage with a careful quirk of chapped lips. “ – We gotta, Noct. Shit, I don’t want to but it’s because I don’t want to that I know I have to. “

Impeccable logic; Ignis fights to roll his eyes.  Right now, whatever the bulkier of the three could say would be better than a timed lecture, especially when his own fingers press, bruising, into the wood behind. 

“He’ll be fine in a few hours. He has his suppressants, food, water – _most_ of our gear.” Ah, Gladio didn’t seem particularly pleased about that. “What would be worse is us staying and doing something we’d regret. Might not seem like it at the moment, but there are some things like this that you just don’t come back from, no matter how experienced you think you are. He’ll ride out his heat alone, as Omega often do. Won’t kill him, maybe make him a little sore and sleepy but it’d be way worse if one of us was in there and lost control.” 

“I wouldn’t—" 

“You don’t know that.” 

The two of them carry on for a time, little murmurs of best intentions, something about plans gone awry, and _Astrals_ , how good Prompto smells even though they are out in the hall. They can feel the blood rushing between them, the tantalizing hold that it has on them and Ignis is finally the first to move, he makes it a point to be the first.  There has to be some semblance of control, an indicative response.   

The Advisor rolls up the unbuttoned cuffs of his sleeves, tucking and smoothing over creases before pushing off the door. A glance sparing between the other two men and their continued diatribe; life lesson here, life lesson there, and Noctis being completely over the amount of those he’s been getting lately.  It might have been humorous had it not been true. 

Floorboards creak beneath ripped carpet as he steps past them.

They don’t have time to dawdle.

“Let’s go. Before we draw more attention to our situation and Prompto’s merely by standing out here. There are things we need to accomplish before nightfall.”   

No one argues with him. 

* * *

 

 

It’s by the fifth door chime of a small local convenience store at Ignis feels himself visibly wincing. Cramped, poorly designed spaces that allow the dank, humid air of the day to leech in with each passing browser (they never buy anything)? Not ideal.

“You told Prompto we were going hunting. Not shopping. This is shopping, I hate shopping.”  Noctis’s disgust is thick, Ignis didn’t even need to see the contortion on his face to understand.  Princely fingers rifling through baubles, key chains with spinners and lights, misspelled names on postcards, and packs of gum long expired.  Fidgeting to pass the time, fidgeting to keep his mind off other things undoubtedly or maybe he’s so transfixed like the rest of them.

A bag of chips gets tossed into the carriage on Ignis’s arm and Gladio’s deep baritone chuckle cuts through the younger’s grumbling.  “You mean you hate shopping without Blondie. Cause you two don’t seem to have a problem spending our hard earned money half the time. It’s amazing we have enough gil to fill up the Regalia.”  

The would-be king’s mouth opens to protest and then closes, lips puckering into a pout. The Shield isn’t wrong, the younger pair of the four had a been of a spendthrift nature and most of the time it was in Prompto’s favor. Little things that Noctis decided made their livewire companion smile – he bought them, offered them up, an expectant smile waiting on his lips as appreciation and laughter as the only thanks he truly desired. Pleasing Prompto, for Noctis, seemed an incredibly easy task.  And their residence cameraman never failed to make his adoration over each and every single gesture known.

Even over something so asinine as a chocobo pencil.   

Ignis remembers when he lost it and almost cried. They bought him another one. _Noctis bought him another one_ , exactly.

Sighing, Ignis places two lukewarm water bottles into the basket.  There is something that he’s looking for, even a small shop like this should have the various items and tools needed to conquer their current predicament. Perhaps behind the counter, certainly not near the food section their loitering in.

 His nose crinkles, peering down in the basket.  When did candy get snuck in there?  Ignis shoves it back on a shelf in passing before Noctis notices. 

“So, are we done yet?”  The Prince’s voice seems dim in the background, fans whirling above and the advisor moves to make his way through another rickety aisle. Ah, on the back wall near the register. Perfect, that’s what he needs.  He leaves the other two to bicker, huffing groans and vague gestures with items they not going to purchase.

“You’re eager to get back.”  

Tongue clucks absent-mindedly.  Nothing too flashy, nothing with the potential of cheap bedazzled rhinestones falling off. Somewhere he can hear their resident jewel crafting newsy chirp about installing ‘a real gem on one of these’; Ignis’s throat fills with moderate disgust.   

He counts with his hands, measurements and age brackets. What might be too small for some may be too large on Prompto or the other way around.  The blond is particularly petite nor is he large and encumbering him with something garish that he can’t hide beneath his clothes had been an option Ignis wished to consider.  Simple is best.

“Well, I mean, I – “

“We get it. But you weren’t the only one affected, remember? – Iggy,” Gladio’s voice snaps his concentration at the wall of items before him, “what’s the plan?”  

Nimble fingers take down what appears to be an inconspicuous black band. Thick in width and incredibly dense, sturdy locking mechanism with a few failsafes for that ‘special night’ (or that’s what the tag reads). It’ll do in a pinch and that’s exactly what they are in.  Getting Prompto to agree to it might be harder than he thinks but the nature of the beast -- _of_ _them_ , in particular, should be enough of a motivation to avoid an argument.

“The plan is:  we handle it.”   

It totals out to around twenty-three hundred gil. 

 Noct receives a lesson on budgeting the second sweltering desert air greets them outside.

  

* * *

 

 

“You got him the equivalent of an Omega chastity belt?”  

The plastic bag rustles against the wind and he sees out of the corner of his eyes Noctis’s prying interest in their less commonly purchased item.  Now, perhaps, would be a good time to explain. 

He cracks open a can of ebony, slotting it in a well-maintained cup holder, gerding himself for the barrage of questions awaiting. 

“More or less. It’s a collar, to prevent any of us from marking him in the worse evitable situation where we might lose our minds, either during his heat or our ruts where we cannot acquire _suitable_ accommodations. Ultimately, it’s to allow Prompto some control over who he mates with and when.” he notes the soft smile on the Prince’s face and the quick quirk of chapped lips in the backseat belonging to Gladio.  How ambitious.  “– Or never, if that’s his choice.” Quickly lived happiness, both expressions twitch away.  

They finally arrive, a quick turn into the car lot of their shabby hotel and the Regalia’s engine quiets down to a soft purr as they park.  They don’t move from their blistering hot leather seats, even when the ignition shuts off.

Noct is the first to speak, again. “So with this, we can, _you_ _know_ , with Prompto,” a pink tongue darts out to wet his lips and the younger corrects himself, “I mean if he wants.” 

“If he wants.” Affirmation comes from Gladio, sterner than the other two are used to.  “Prompto is our friend first, Omega second, and general pain in the ass third. Let’s remember that order.” A sturdy slap to the back of the Prince’s seat and their bulwark of a bodyguard hops out of the vehicle with little more than a grunt.    

The collar gets placed back into the bag, the clink of the lock knocking against the other items.  

“Well, I guess we should go see how he’s doing.” A resigning grumble, it’s been little over three hours and they all know Prompto is far from recovered. Alienating him, however, is the last thing any of them want to do – Omega’s are fragile in their heats, physically and emotionally. One wrong moment could damage them and along with being separated from a pack that’s barely begun to bond?

Noctis sighs heavily for what seems the umpteenth time before exiting the car to follow Gladio.    

And Ignis is left, hands having not removed themselves from the steering wheel. His knuckles are white beneath well-kept and oiled driving gloves, thumbs smoothing over the bend of the leather wheel.  He stays there for several more minutes, jaw tense before a familiar ding of his phone going off fills the silence. Text message from Noct, probably asking what’s taking him so long.  

He doesn’t answer it, removing a hand to pluck the keys from the ignition, head thumping back against the seat.  His hands fall to his thighs, smoothing over wrinkled denim – a very now or never moment, he feels this is. The cloying sensation in his chest more than indicative how of desperately he doesn’t want to face this situation at all.  Not just for his own sake, his own control, but because of Prompto.  The others will just let it slide, will just pretend that Prompto hadn’t kept this secret from them (or more so lied on his admission forms to the Crownsguard), but Ignis, truly, cannot.  

He’ll have to play the villain, at least temporarily, even if all he wants is to pepper kisses along a freckled face now, graze his fingers over gun sure knuckles, press bodies together, hanging on every delectable mewl,  and --  Ignis clears his throat, groaning. 

This won’t go well. Of course, it won’t. 

It takes him approximately fifteen minutes and thirty-two seconds to re-enter the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay in updating, my cat passed, and along with the shabby chapter. i'll fix any errors i see later on today, i just wanted to get this up for all of you. before we go any further if you have questions about the verse i'm creating, just ask -- i'll inform you as much as i can without spoiling or getting ahead of myself. also, keep in mind, each chapter is going to have a varying POV. clearly this one is ignis, next will be gladio and then noct -- and finally back to prompto. 
> 
> let me know if you're still enjoying it! we'll eventually get to our first whambamthankyoum'am times in the coming chapters, i just... wanna build things.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis isn’t here for that, but Gladio is.
> 
> His nails bite into his palm again, this time to prevent him from committing regicide.

Gladio always knew he wanted to raise a family. Obvious, really. Something he never questioned. Much like his loyalty to the Crown, the idea of having a family didn’t really require a second thought.  He had even thought about how many kids he would want, their names, whether or not they would be inducted into service of the royal family. Would the first-born want to be a Shield? Probably. And he wouldn’t fight it, not in the end – although, allowing any of his imaginary future children into the military brokered a sincere hesitation in his heart. Might have been the same feeling his Father had, but the Amicitia’s have been serving the Crown for generations. Who would he be to deny his offspring the same right?  

At least three, he knows sitting here at this particular moment, that he wants at least three children. Preferably two boys and a girl, but he’ll love them all the same regardless of how they end up. The girl would have Iris’s name as a middle name, that’s just polite and a good little family tradition to start. Iris’ll hate it, pouting and glowering at her older brother as he names his first girl with her in mind – maybe she’ll do the same with her sons, regardless of how his sister and him end up in their future families. And he stops, sitting here in this agonizing drawl of time, however, and wonders how handsome or gorgeous his kids would look with freckles, wide smiles, dark hair, and hazel eyes – presumably if they take after both him…

And Prompto.

His jaw tenses, saliva filling his mouth and his spine bends against the rigid backing of a cheaply made chair. Now may not be the time to think about this, not as he sits in the hotel room thickly laden with the scent of an Omega coming down from his heat. A synthetic blocker giving a sour twinge to an otherwise smooth, liquid spice scent that makes the Shield’s skin hum; wood smoke and lilac.

“Do I _really_ have to wear this?” Pale fingers pull at the black band covering the majority of succulent swan throat. He’ll never get used to it. Prompto’s too much of a fidgeter. Twenty minutes down the road and he’ll be scrambling to take it off and Gladio, against his better judgment, will be more than happy to help him take it off.  Maybe with his teeth.  

Tongue flexes against the roof of his mouth and he swallows the growl that itches in the back of his throat at the idea.  Prompto keening, Prompto begging, Prompto all slippery and wry with those pretty lips just -- 

Gladio steps on his own foot and Noctis's voice covers the groan of pain spilling from his lips.  

“Specs says it’s for the best. You know, just to be safe. He said you can take it off whenever you’re ready but it’d probably be safer until we figure this all out.” 

The logic of Ignis is an impeccable standard to hold to, yet it’s kept them alive and mostly in one piece over the course of their journey.  Then again, he’s always been like that – always thinking, always planning, never shutting off.  Gladio didn’t miss the way he sat in the car while he and the Prince made to move back into the room, he didn’t miss the second of hesitation when facing this scenario. 

He also didn’t miss the plain and noticeable fact that Ignis is not here. 

Not here to witness their Prince’s hand hooked carefully on the other side of Prompto’s waist, thumb scrawling up and down on a patch of skin bared.  Not here to witness the way Noctis decides to bend his head to smell the soft curve of Prompto’s neck each time he turns his head to look at his phone or nose at his hair.

Ignis isn’t here for that, but Gladio is.

His nails bite into his palm again, this time to prevent him from committing regicide.  

The door opens with a click, a solitary blessing covered in an eerie sense of foreboding.  The warrior doesn't need to look back at their recently joined companion to know the face that he wears or the slump of his shoulders. Gladio can smell it, just as he can across the room with Prompto. Unease and it holds the raw iron twang of blood, sharp and noticeable – especially after rainfall. 

Bone crack as he makes to move, sitting up and stretching. There is no reason he has to wait here for this, the inevitable conversation, but Ignis still stands in the doorway, resting his back against the door like he had before when they first left. No time like the present to start, no time like the present to interrupt the odd honeymoon of giggles and fair skinned blushes happening over on the bed to the far corner.

Noctis is pushing his luck nuzzling his nose against Prompto’s ear and telling him something stupid about a toy he found in the convenience store. Too close, too familiar, there aren’t enough boundaries laid bare between them all to make this remotely comfortable. Lips tip against an ear and the act is horribly salacious for simply explaining a toy.  

The other two Alphas visibly twitch in their respective places as their newly revealed Omega coos happily over the notion. 

Gladio realizes that he’s all too gleeful to break it up. 

“Prom, we should probably get this over.”   Ignis seems surprised to note that Gladio starts the conversation, rising from his seat to walk over to other bed.  Noct doesn’t hide the irritation laden on soft features, pale eyes glowering at the approaching human behemoth. Teeth snarl, a curled upper lip and that’s all it takes for the smaller to shirk back and withdraw his hand from their blond companion with a huff.

The bed whines against his weight. Shitty construction.

“Do you want to start or should we?”  It's not like he even has an understanding how to start in the first place. 

Flaxen tresses flutter as Prompto shakes his head in a very concrete ‘no’ motion.  Lithe, calloused digit fuss, picking at dry skin and worn nail beds. Shit, he even has freckles on his knuckles, little sun splotches littering the bony bends and curves... Prompto’s sharp inhalation breaks his reverie.   

“I didn’t mean _not_ to tell you guys. It was never about hiding; it was just… You said it yourself.” An open palm gesture made in his direction, hands fall flat back to narrow thighs. “-- I wouldn’t have been able to join the Crownsguard. And I know how much Noct wanted me to be in it and I figure this whole Omega thing was just a fluke. I mean, I didn’t get my first heat until I was sixteen. Talk about defective,” nervous laughter spills across Prompto’s lips, teeth catching along the bottom tier.  

He hates it.

“Don’t do that.” 

Sky hued irises flick up, scanning over his expression.  “Huh?”

A hand moves up to work the stiff muscles along neck and shoulder. Those teeth are still locked and pressed against a pliable lower lip and Gladio just wants to take it in his own, nibble and groan over it. Yet the emotional agony that pours over them like thick, drowning elixir makes him tense and not entirely in the way he wishes. 

Emotionally stunted, some might call Gladio. Never particularly good at the sweet comfort of words that others oft provided to one another.  Moments of tension, fraught with whirling thoughts got the better of him.  But he wasn’t stupid, graduating near the top of his class and excelling in nearly everything he put his mind to, even if there was a bit of yelling involved in the learning process – he knew the delicate importance of communication and at the very least, he could try.

“Call yourself defective. You aren’t. Fucking stupid, yeah. Defective, no. What you did by not telling us, really dumb. No one is going to argue that. But I think I could speak for everyone when I say no one cares that you’re an Omega, but what we do care about is --” 

“You really didn’t get your first heat until you were sixteen?” The Prince interrupts.   

Gladio snarls. “Not the best time Noct.”

“Tch, sorry.”  

Ebony hair fluffs up and Noctis falls on his back against the bed, arms tucking beneath his head.  Takes care of one problem, maybe he’ll just fall asleep and ask about this conversation in passing.  That’s an ideal scenario.

Gladio imparts a final withering glare at the now horizontal boy before continuing,  “ What we do care about is that you… Shit, Prom, you didn’t tell us and you probably weren’t going to if your medication hadn’t started to run out.” The echo of his own phones reminds him of his Father, scolding Iris for a night spent out too late or a test failed in middle school. 

“Imagine if you went into heat in the middle of battle or when we get stuck in some cave instead of here… Listen, I know it’s not fair, especially considering Alphas aren’t perfect either with our own conditions.” Ruts, he should just say it. The violent, horrendous, gut-wrenching ruts that end bloody and bruised, gnashing teeth and claw marks in pliable bodies.  If Omegas become sweet, agreeable, wanton little things; Alphas become the exact opposite. 

“I know, I just –” His hands work the collar strapped against his neck, tugging to allow a thick swallow. Too tight, it looks too tight. Prompto whimpers.   Take it off him. Stop scolding and take it off him. Make him feel better, make him feel safe, secure, warm, and content like an Omega deserves. Make him --   

Ignis finally enters the conversation, stepping into the main room with arms crossed and face near unreadable. But his glasses slip low on the bridge of an all too perfect nose, mouth puckered into a frown, and shoulders tight. So, his usual guise.

“You just didn’t wish to worry us. Prompto, we understand. And yet this worries us even more. We have to recalculate when and where we stop, not just the present situations with our bodies, but yours as well and the inevitable situations that we will find ourselves in dealing with this. Our first priority is to Noctis, as I’m sure you are aware, escorting him now to Altissia and wherever else this war might take us. We cannot afford such distractions, not by this, not by – “

“By me.” 

 Gladio flinches. _Shit_. 

“If I were being cruel, yes.”

Wow, Iggy, tact is not your strong suit, he thinks. Probably the first time he’s thought that, actually. No, no definitely not the first time.

“That’s why you got this for me.”  Thumb flicks at a sturdy latch. “– so you wouldn’t have to think about it. Not much a temptation to mate if you can’t even do it. Makes sense.”

Gladio realizes his presence now is wholly unneeded. Similar to the Prince who has not moved save for the twitch of his foot against the sheets each time Prompto whines.  He moves to rest his elbows against the rounds of leather clad knees, hands bracketing either side of his neck in a weary clasp.   

“That doesn’t alleviate everything and you know that.”

It doesn’t stop him from squirming on the bed, begging and crying out for them, pushing out his scent and parting those pretty lips. It doesn’t stop them from wanting to grind into that tight body or soothe those wails with their tongues and teeth, doesn’t stop them from aching so hard they feel like they might go blind any second now without that small form to curl underneath them. It just stops them from marking him, mating him, claiming him.

“I just tried to ration my meds and I shouldn’t have, it was --”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ignis raises a hand. This is either going to be five minutes or five hours, but no one is leaving the room until he’s done speaking.  

Noctis has the right idea hunkering down and pretending to be asleep.

“The fact of the matter also remains, beyond your heats, you’ve been taking your suppressant excessively. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to your body? Prompto, in all the time we’ve known you, clearly we’ve never even scented you, otherwise, this discussion would be completely ridiculous. But perhaps that’s my point – “

Take it away, Iggy.  

“Where on Eos did you get such a foolish idea? Not allowing your body to take its natural course, even for a moment, is dangerous. Suppressants are just that: suppressants. They aren’t meant to be taken consistently and preventively. As an Omega, you’re still supposed to go about your natural course and only use them when you are on your heat. Never just as a cautionary measure, an imbalance of chemicals over time could have done something to your body that you wouldn’t even be aware of until now. I doubt I need to list all the issues coinciding with continuous use of a suppressant over time, especially with how long you’ve been taking them for. Let alone how expensive it much have been.” 

“It’s not like I knew when my heats would be...” 

“There are charts for these exact things. I can download one to your phone if you’d like. Or perhaps you would like to tell us you lost your phone now or forgotten how to use it or even --”

It’s clear Ignis has rolled himself up in his lecture, lesson, well-planned conversation whatever term he wants to disguise his rant with, grimacing and scoffing. He’s ignoring the distraught noises bleating out of the Omega’s mouth, the fretting that warbles in the back of his throat and the pricks of moisture budding at the edges of blue eyes.

Something rumbles in the Shield’s chest at the sound and sight, aggrieved and irritated. Something that either wants to grab Prompto and remove him from this situation, tucking him close and smoothing over the flushed apples of his cheeks or, more effectively, punch Ignis in the mouth.  He opts for neither option, nails digging into the back of his neck.  

It’s all wrong.

“Iggy –“

“I’m not finished, Gladio.” The lean brunet snaps, continuing without a missed beat, “Prompto, you must under— “

It’s not that he’s easily offended and it’s also not that he has a temper. Well, all those things are true but being cut off in conversation when it’s clearly going nowhere doesn’t particularly settle well in his stomach. So when he rises, the bed screeching with relief, it’s less of a move of comfort and definitely more of a move of intimidation, head cocking and gaze fixing on the very evidently now shorter of the Alpha pair.    

“No, I wasn’t finished.”

Ignis’s mouth closes, brow furrowing further. Consequences, the Shield will deal with them later.

Prompto looks between them, wild azure hues wide in anticipation.  

“Just let the kid answer one question before you go digging for another, will you? Shit, this isn’t supposed to be an interrogation. He’s not the enemy.  -- Prom,” Gladio’s tone softens. “Where did you get that dumbass idea to just take that medication all the goddamn time?  And if you say the internet, I’m going to lose my mind.” 

“Ignis.”  Prompto answers and time seems to stop for a moment. 

“Hold up, what?” 

“Pardon?”

“I got it from Ignis. It was during high school, you were lecturing Noct about the nature of Alphas, Betas, and Omegas. For our biology class?”

Noctis snorts, murmuring ‘that class sucked’. Oh, so he is awake.

Prompto thwacks his side playfully. He’s quick to realize though it’s neither the time nor the place with two expectant Alphas waiting for him to finish. “ Um, Noct was eating his like maybe third bowl of cereal? Doesn’t matter but anyway you had said something like Omegas could hide with their medication. That they could take it consistently, not just to prevent heats, but to prevent scenting at all. And so I – “

All the color drains from the Advisor’s face making him ghastly white, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t move to correct them; he doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. 

“That wasn’t meant to be advice, Prompto.”

“Yeah, well, dumb kinda scared teenager then who just had his first heat at that time.  Didn’t really think it through? And Noct was talking about me going into the Crownsguard and so when I applied, I just kept up doing what I was doing, taking the suppressants all the time and I guess it’s cause I was sleeping beauty's here best friend, no one bothered to check. Or no one cared.” 

Extensive background checks went to the making of a member of the Crownsguard. Blood tests, physical examinations, standardized tests, field displays, and proper court training – along with a full psyche evaluation. Prompto couldn’t have avoided all of those things and while he wasn’t exactly frail as most Omegas are, a few things would have fallen into place regardless of what his dosage had been or how he displayed himself as a Beta this entire time.   

Gladio had seen to his physical training, in the gym and out in battle, while Ignis has helped with the proper mannerisms, books, and studying. Prompto passed, relatively, with flying colors. Yet beyond all other appraisals, there were only certain things that neither of the two retainers could account for.  Noctis must have had some sway, even a little, and if Prompto had divulged feeling nervous about not being good enough… It’s not easy to say no to the Crown Prince of Lucius.

“Prompto, that’s incredibly….” Ignis starts, mouth working to find the right words. 

“Fucking stupid.” Gladio finishes, grunting beneath his breath. “Whatever though, what’s done is done. Too late to go back now. I guess you’ll just have to keep up on your suppressants until we can get another solution.”

A scoff to his left. Of course Ignis has something to add. 

“He needs to let his body experience all this naturally. We can’t force him to take his medication, he doesn’t even know what his heats are like. Once we ascertain that, we can work towards a solution.”

Fine idea, if it hadn't been so contradictory to their previous actions and the discussions held in the car.  He remembers another's fingers pressing a pale pill to trembling lips, encouraging and damning at the same time.  His tongue runs over his teeth, “Didn’t you just give him one of his suppressants before you left? Pay attention, Iggy.”

“I am paying attention and that was before he carelessly admitted that he took a textbook example of what not to do as a capital idea.”

“I’m right here, guys.”  The cry is dim, wavering the background. 

Noctis finally sits up, jaw clicking before slumping his head on a particular freckled shoulder. “Seriously, weren’t you guys just saying how much trouble we’d be in if he didn’t." 

Off to the side, Prompto lets out a little chirp of agreement.

“Don’t take each other’s side on this.”

“Why not? I mean, you two stand there acting like it’s anyone’s choice but Prompto’s.”   

"Noctis, this is hardly the time --"

Gladio's head spins, eyes pinching shut. The conversation is going nowhere and at this rate, it’ll just dissolve into chaos. He can feel it by the way his heart is hammering, by the snarling the Prince and the Advisor are nipping at one another, by the way Prompto’s concern washes over each and every single one of them.

It can’t just be him that feels it, can it? No, they wouldn’t be that oblivious, not to the obvious distress they're causing him.

"It's a perfect time! Neither of you have bothered to ask Prompto what he wants."

"To be fair, lying to us doesn't exactly invoke a considerate response in this situation."  

Prompto interjects, ignored, with a hiccup and stuttered exhale, "I'm sorry, okay I just --" 

Instinct slithers up his spine, an urge to defend that which he wants to hold precious so dearly, and it curses the part of him that dares to be calm in the moment their plaintive Omega is ignored.  

"Come off it, Specs, we both know that you --"

A growl rips off his tongue before he can stop it, the noise agonizing and dominating even as it tears from his throat with a behemoth's abandon. He hadn't meant for it to be so loud, just enough to shut up the squabbling voices ignoring the sweet thing mewling and fussing on the bed between two posturing, concerned Alphas. The clenching in his chest softens a bit and the ground feels steady beneath his feet for half a second -- just a little peace, that's all he wants, just a little peace in this moment. They came here for an explanation from Prompto, not a fight between each other. 

There is a rustle of bed sheets, the soft plop of feet on trashed carpet.  He scents him before he feels him, warmth cascading along his arm shortly after and his eyes open. The sight that he's given is sweet: watery azure hues, pale lashes, and perfect pout all for him, but he'd have to argue that the touch feels even sweeter. The fingers that held him in such rapture earlier are scratching lightly on his bicep, tracing tattoo to elbow and down along his forearm. When did Prompto learn to be so soothing? 

"Gladio?" His voice sounds and feels like honey in that moment, far different than the earlier dissonance. 

 _Put on a face for him, just to calm him down, take that worry away from his bones. There's so much weight on those little shoulders already, even before you knew he was an Omega, and none of this yelling is helping_.  

Gladio knows the smile he forces himself to wear is half-assed, something no one would rightfully believe but he clasps his hand over a much smaller one resting on his arm, giving it a squeeze.  "Sorry, Chocobo, I think just need some air. "

The hand on his arm pulls, nails pricking into his skin that makes him bite back a moan.  Aggression, for Gladio, had always been a strange aphrodisiac.  “I - I'll come with you!” 

That earns Prompto a chuckle. 

“Nah. You might be the only thing that’s stopping these two from beating each other senseless. Plus,” he tips a finger beneath a narrow chin, purposefully ignoring the petulant tongue cluck of their Prince, “– you still smell _way_ too good. Bringing you outside right now would just invite trouble. Not that I can’t handle it, but I’d rather not.” A flush takes to pale features and does it ever highlight the smattering of freckles on his cheeks. Swallowing a groan, Gladio cranes downward, skirting scarred lips against a blond hairline.  He takes a moment there, indulging himself again in the scent of lilac and wood smoke that Prompto gives off, humming.  

Dropping back from the smaller, he makes to leave despite the whimper of protest coming from Prompto.  "Hey, don't pout, I’ll be right outside if you need me. ”

All the comfort he needs is found in an eager nod and beaming grin. Another chaste peck to a freckled cheek and he excuses himself, finally finding the footing to push past the other two and away from Prompto. The taste of the smaller's skin lingers on his tongue as he leaves, shuddering and cursing. Well, that could have gone better, he muses, palm laying flat against the door, shutting it.  

His head thunks against the wall, teeth gritting. Out of all the things that just transpired, he really should kick himself for even daring to think about kid names. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me right now: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ at least there will be kisses next chapter??
> 
> follow me on tumblr if you want ( hrist.tumblr.com). i initially cut this chapter back from 7k to whatever it is now, less than that, i can tell you that much. the next chapter is noct's perspective which will probably start right from the initial argument and beyond. i'll fix errors as i find them, i just wanted to get this done with and i wrote it way too fast. apologies for gladios chapter predominately being used to host an argument. Please let me know what you think and comment below xoxo.
> 
> also thank you, everyone, for your condolences about my cat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words catch in his throat and he thinks it’s familiar to the sensation of being strangled. Choked out and denied air – something Gladio had taught him in training, only with a few pats of his palm to tap out. There’s none of that in this conversation, no removing himself with a curt ‘excuse me’ or the double smack of his fingers against a bicep to say that he can’t breathe, that he can’t think, or worse that he can’t function with the influence Prompto unknowingly pushes on him.

Divine right; a concept named for the innate given grace of kings and future kings to rule. That they had been chosen by a higher power, something larger than themselves, and it is their destiny to adhere to that blessing. The Crown could claim the Crystal gave them this ownership or that the Astrals themselves looked down favorably on the heavy heart that weighed in the line of Lucius as being just enough.   

However, in the moments shared between this morning and this afternoon, Noctis felt anything but enough.

He knew a future ruler should be there for his or her people, should be a shoulder to lean upon, a voice to answer back, and a hand to hold when difficult times fell upon the weary. All things taught to him in his lessons, by his Father most of all, and along the way by others hoping to bend his ear. He paid a great deal of mind to each of these things when he was younger, head thumping in the backseat of his Father’s prized vehicle, pale eyes staring out the window.  A King should know the state of their people, he recalls, how they are fairing and what woes they have incurred.

Noctis snarls to himself now. He didn’t even know that his supposed best friend had ranked amongst the breeding and nurturing line of their species, a class more oft belittled than praised yet the universal status and nature of an Omega was absolutely necessary. Or so he had been taught, either by his Father, by Clarus, and certainly by Ignis. 

And here the young prince is staring down said Advisor with a curl to his lip and flash in his eyes. What kind of future King didn’t even notice these things about their closest allies? 

“I’m going to check on Gladio.”   Ignis breaks the silence first and Noctis watches Prompto’s head whirl, snapping to attention.

“W-wait, he’s right outside though, yeah? So, you can stay here, I’m sure he’ll be back.” 

He notices how Prompto doesn’t dare touch Ignis, just moves to hover hands in a phantom caress along biceps and chest. Must be restraining himself, even so, the meager suggestion of it is enough to sink a pit into the Prince’s stomach. Nameless, vicious, and greedy sensation boiling under his skin at the prospect. Prompto is his best friend, thusly so wouldn’t he want to be his Ome--  

“I’ll come back as soon as I fetch him. We shouldn’t be squabbling at a time like this.” Ignis adjusts his glasses, exhaling woefully into his following words.  His eyes fall on the gunslinger, furrowed brow softening.  “-- And perhaps I shouldn’t have lost my temper and snapped at you.”  

Noctis huffs when the taller moves to drag gloved knuckles against the length of the blond’s cheek, affection brimming from the action.  Prompto stirs and whimpers at it all, leaning into like a man starved and Ignis takes that opportunity to tuck flaxen strands behind his ear. 

Hands shift into his pockets, almost missing the airy tut slipping across the brunet’s lips, “We need to have a conversation, you and I.  Thankfully this entire ordeal didn’t happen a week or so from now so we have better time to plan.”  

Noctis realizes Ignis is staring directly at him, unflinching, brow raised in expectation of even the smallest of grunts for an answer. 

He gets one. Just one and an eye roll.  Prompto’s quick to fill the void let in their echoes, backing up and already looking between them.

“What’s a week from now?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself about yet,” Ignis hums in the direction of their smaller companion, his gaze still fixed on Noctis. “– I’ll be gone only a few moments. Make sure Prompto doesn’t do anything foolish like open a window. It’s not like his scent his subtle.”  

“Yeah, yeah.”

 And when Ignis leaves, it takes two steps and one aggravated sigh for him to fall back unto the bed. 

 A week from now, huh? Ignis has everything figured out – their schedules, their meals, their habits. Down to the minute and if that isn’t stifling... And well, maybe not everything. Prompto threw a wrench in that proverbial engine with his latest revelation and Noctis is almost of a mind to thank him. Just a touch of pressure off from him, yet all for the misery of his best friend. Not a price he’d be willing to let Prompto pay again. 

The air conditioning in the room kicks on, drawing his attention away from the notion of dates and plans, contingencies that they hadn’t needed to consider before.  And Prompto flops down next to him. 

“What’s in a week?” 

“Nothing.”   

“C’mon Noct, can’t just leave a guy in the dark.”   

 “You mean like how you left me?”  Teeth snap together and those words came out far harsher than he intended. He had managed to convince himself he was fine with the distance between them, the secrets kept, and the blatant disregard. It’s clear now that he’s anything but.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tch, Prom, you know what I mean.”  

“Dude, I don’t. I guess if this is about me not telling you I’m an Omega… I just… I didn’t want it to change anything.” 

Words catch in his throat and he thinks it’s familiar to the sensation of being strangled. Choked out and denied air – something Gladio had taught him in training, only with a few pats of his palm to tap out.  There’s none of that in this conversation, no removing himself with a curt ‘excuse me’ or the double smack of his fingers against a bicep to say that he can’t breathe, that he can’t think, and worse that he can’t function with the influence Prompto unknowingly pushes on him.   

Freckled fingers tap on his shoulder and his voice is pleading, “– Noct, please don’t be mad at me… I wanted to tell you, I really did but. Shit, some best friend I am.”  

And Prompto continues, a gentle warble of excuses and self-depreciating comments that swirl in the back of the Prince’s mind, gathering like storm clouds and high tides. From a practical level, he understood Prompto’s concern and hesitation – Omegas weren’t particularly common, especially Omegas seen traveling with a pack of Alphas across the known world. People would assume things (and they’d usually be correct) and Prompto being both male and an Omega... Not  _exactly_  common either.  

But from an emotional standpoint? From the bonds, they brokered together all through high-school and even now. Noctis would have liked a bit more credit than their young blond is giving him.    Judgments laying heavily on both of them or no, he would have liked the opportunity to stand by his friend in the trials of his heats and when he propositioned the Crown for a position amongst the Crownsguard.   

Anything at all, just to be let a little more in Prompto’s life.  His nose twitches and half-lidded eyes blink wearily at the other fretting boy.   

Give a little to get a little, something Gladio usually says.

“My rut.”    

Well, that stopped him. 

“ – Eh?”

“I said ‘my rut.‘ “ 

“Your rut?”

“It’s in a week,” he repeats. No need to belabor the subject.  “ -- that’s the thing Ignis was talking about. Or should be or whatever. It’s not super exact.”   

Ignis had purchased a calendar for all three of the Alphas prior to their trip, color coated and everything with different dates and sticky notes pertaining to any one of them.  Each of them had been colored coated within the binding; Gladio in red, Ignis in green, and Noctis’s week had been marked out in purple, tabs of lavender for the prospective dates when his ruts would start and blocked out dates for the days when he should be in full swing.   

He remembers fumbling through the bindings of the small booklet. Four hard-lined sections marked off signifying how many ruts he’s gone through since the purchase. It gave an outline of the frequency he could come to expect, when he aligned with the other two, and little pieces of parchment of contingency plans should they all sync up together for a few horrendous weeks.

Prompto hadn’t been included in the book, seemingly a false-Beta.

That will have to change.   

But there’s no real anxiety with the revelation for the young Prince, however.  His ruts, for what they were, had been of the standard variety. He had the best care, the best concern back in Insomnia. Even so, save for the fever that took to his bones and slithering along his spine, Noctis had been reigned in as a darling and positively mild. Perhaps it had also helped that no Omega frequented the halls of the palace when the resident royalty had been on the proverbial prowl.   

Noctis knew for a simple fact that Gladio is the worst amongst them, at least from the other retainers and servants amongst his Father’s staff who chittered and chattered about the aggression and lascivious propensity that his Shield held whilst on his. And then there’s Ignis…

Noctis’s tongue clucks.

Actually, he’s actually never seen Ignis in his rut. Lime green mars the pages and yet nothing ever seem to came of it. Maybe Specs lucked out in the lottery gamble that had been Alpha hormones.   

“So, that’s like an Omega’s heat, right? You go all crazy for a bit,” Prompto remarks, drawing his attention back with a lazy gesture.  

“Yeah, I guess. But I think ruts are a little more dangerous than that? I mean, I nearly bit everyone’s head off and I just… I had this itch under my skin and my head felt way too foggy. Like I had just woken up.”

“A feeling we all know you’re very familiar with." 

His fist darts out to playfully punch at coeurl print covered thigh. “ – Oh, now we’re being rude to your Prince?”    

“Hey man, I’m not the one that turns staying in bed into a champion sport.”  

“Yeah well, I hope my rut lasts even less time then your heat did.”

“Oh, I’m still in heat… _Technically_. According to the e-books, Ignis uploaded to my phone, it can last anywhere from one to two weeks. Not really sure. Like I said before, only really had one and that was … Man, that sucked.”

“You seem calm though.”

“It kinda comes and goes, like in waves?  Also, it seems to help a bit if I --- uh, you know… Well, you guys were gone for a bit so I took the edge off, if you know what I’m saying.” 

Carmine spreads across freckled cheeks and Noctis can’t help himself but coo. It’s too adorable, mood already lifting from the almost dour note it had taken.

“I don’t think I do. I mean, I’m not an Omega, I’ve never had a heat before,” Noctis lets out a tease, moving to lean against the freckled blond, chin propping on the other’s shoulder.  The body beneath his jaw bounces, a palm coming to falsely shove against his face while the other laughs.  Well, at the very least that joke went over well – he had heard about certain Omegas being sensitive during their heats, emotionally and otherwise, much like Alphas and aggression during their ruts.  Gladio struck him as the type to have one fit with ire, something to note with their upcoming travel plans.  Ignis probably already knows.   

“Dude, you totally know, don’t make me say it!”  

“Come on, tell me. Tell me or I’ll –” Fingers find the edges of a narrow waist, skirting over soft flesh with taut muscle corded beneath pudge that Prompto never got rid of.  He pinches and Prompto lets out a squawk, a warbled warning of ‘don’t you dare!’ bitten between shaky laughter.  

And it’s a grin that disguises any errant fear, phantom giggles leaving Prompto’s lips with each breath and he takes that as permission to try again.  This time, his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, pressing down hard to stifle the smile on his face as he grabs and tickles.  Futile, half-hearted attempts are made to shove him off accompanied by uproarious noises and the Prince feels the earlier dread clutching his heart and head lift just a hair.    

The tide turns on him over within seconds as fingers lodge on his shoulders and skirt on his neck in retaliation. A twitch and he’s the one barking out laughter, shoving back with boyish fever.  They’re a mess of sprawling limbs and tugs, near all pretense forgotten and the harsher memory of the day bleeding out in the back of their minds.  

With chests heaving, Noctis ceases his actions, only to note the precarious position he’s aligned himself in. 

Curled beneath his weight, Prompto’s hair fits a halo on the pillow, face flushed and lips a pretty bitten pink, a smile tugging at the edges only serving to highlight his dimples. Prompto’s sigh echoes louder than anything he’s ever heard, a sweet noise that invokes shivers down his spine and makes him keen lowly.  Nimble fingers trailing up his arm and nose crinkling as the blond shifts beneath the Prince, cradling heavier form against his hips. 

Completely unintentional, but it’s enough. 

“Prom, maybe we should, -- ” he starts, fingers digging into mattress beneath them, searching for the will to move.  

It’s all but crushed when he feels gun-callused fingers trace along the berth of his shoulders, teasing the hollow junction of his collar, and brush past hair fallen on his neck. 

“Remember when I said it comes in waves?”

He barely hears it.

Astrals, Prompto smells good. Dried sunflowers, oiled leather, and an odd undertone of cotton-candy – scents of safety and warmth, a delectable desire that simmers the back of Noctis’s mind.  And what claws at his sanity, what tears a sensation along each nerves, churning molten in his blood; he knows it's name, felt it before in his blood, and it's only just a warning. Screwing his eyes shut, it’s all he can do the concentrate on anything but that scent and the soft breathy noises already fluttering from the Omega beneath him, squirming, writhing –     

\---   _Mine. I want him to be mine._

Fiendish hands slip around his neck, pulling him down and he goes willingly, melting against a pliable form with a shudder. His face burrows in the crook of the blond’s neck and liquid molten want overtakes his sensibility as his own hands slip to grab at narrow sides.  Lips are against his ear, puffs of hitched whines and Prompto grinds against him, rising legs high on his hips. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck –_

“I think this is one of those waves.  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad…”

But he’s already lost, shifting to slip hands beneath a too tight tank top. Off, under, he doesn’t know what he wants but it’s beneath him, covered in freckles like stars and squealing against every touch.  Prompto feels so good against him, so warm and so right with his fingers bunching up the cloth of his shirt and holding him close.  

His mouth trails the underside of a narrow jaw, bottom tier catching on a leather reminder – the collar.

“Noct, can you kiss me? Please, I want – I want your mouth.”  

Oh, who is he to deny?

Gone stupid with aroma and his own inclinations raging in the back of his mind, his teeth nip once at the leather bond that denies him a lustful right before moving to claim trembling lips as his own. Prompto’s pliable beneath him at that moment, sweet and soft as he sighs into their kiss, countering the bubbling growl that itches in the back of Prince’s throat.   

Prompto’s hands shift, moving to slip down his back, massaging over tender knit of overworked and weary muscles. He feels them find purchase along the middle of his back, pulling up his t-shirt in eager abandon.  And he grins into the kiss they share, elated at the eagerness that sparks between both of them and drives him mad with want.  

This close to his rut? A bad idea, certainly, for him to be this close to an Omega in heat – to indulge, to touch, to want, to feel. A lesson lingers in his thoughts for a half-second, something about the scent of a wanting mate triggering an Alpha into their ruts earlier than usual, if only by a few days... Something he can’t find reason to truly care about the second Prompto finds a way to truss up his shirt high on his chest, baring skin before slipping gun-callused fingers along the hem of his pants. 

“—Prom,” a throaty groan bellows from his mouth and he rocks down onto the body beneath him.

All he needs a whine, another buck of hips, and those watery eyes peering up at him to seal what he's felt for ages. It didn't matter that his best friend might have been a Beta, didn't matter that he had been betrothed to another, didn't matter all the propriety that went along with choosing his best friend in his heart rather than with his station.  Fortune favored him the second they found out about him being an Omega, at least his attraction, his want, his feelings made sense... His head a little less muddled, his chest a little more unburdened by the fact that being in these arms? It felt right, it felt...  

Rapture took him for a half-second too long and he feels fingers coil on the collar of his shirt, a yelp in the back of his head snarling as he's yanked off and on to the floor.  

"The fuck you think you're doing Noct?" A booming voice that could only belong to Gladio.

When did the door open? Why didn’t he scent the other, and how goddamn dare he? Prompto and him are --

Prickling skin, neck bones cracking. Ire mounts within moments and body, unheeding of the logic of his thoughts the bleeds into the concepts of ‘ _friends’_ and ‘ _comrades’_ , shifts to rise. A short-lived desire, slammed down by gloved fingers back onto the hotel floor.  Wooden boards beneath shambled carpet creak against the action and the weight of another that doesn’t remind him of summer is near unbearable.

"I should have known better than to leave you alone with Prompto this close to your rut." That disappointment could only be Ignis.  

Teeth gnash and the entire expanse of air fills with the cry of the blond Omega, even the hands that hold him away.

“Guys, it’s fine… We were just –-“ 

“Enough, Prompto.” A harsh tone, he can’t see much from his position but it’s a known look that their Advisor shoots the younger.  “Both of you are far too volatile to be left alone. I would have thought Noctis to know better and you to have taken more precaution but perhaps today is one of trial rather than one of blessing.”  

He can hear the bed creak, Gladio breaking in.

“You should bunk with Charmless tonight. I’ll stay with the Chocobo.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“I’m not even close to my next rut and it’s better than leaving him alone. Or keeping these two close and having them sneak off on us.”  

The back of his head grinds against the thin carpet. He hates this idea. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They weren’t going to do anything; they were just -- 

“Plus, it’ll give you time to have that talk you’ve been meaning to have with him.”

Because that’s exactly what he wants to do in the evening. Sit in a stuffy room with an even stuffier advisor going over charts, medications, deciding which shade suits Prompto better in their calendar. Chartreuse or canary yellow? How will they ever decide? He snorts, eyes rolling and earns a dip in pressure to his shoulders as a reward.

“Do you have any objections?” It’s a question not directed at him, though he feels fingers release and the weight that extends from his shoulders move.

Ugh, finally. A moment passes before he sits up, groaning into the thick quiet that pervades the room.

Prompto’s voice sounds distance from the other side of the room, lithe figure hunched up against headboard and pillows, mewling a careful noise of, “No… And I’m sor--“

“Don’t apologize. We’ll make the proper accommodations. Gladio, I trust if there are any complications you’ll alert me immediately.”

“You know it.”   

A sharp look extends between both his retainers. He peers over the edge of the bed, witnessing Gladio slumping next to Prompto with an almost behemoth authority. Neither of them seems to be focusing on him anymore and despite the sight before him, his mood calming with each passing moment. He’ll even forgive the soft draw of fingers roaming gentle circles on Prompto’s thigh.  

Whatever Gladio is attempting to do, it’s stopped the shivering Omega for now – an idle motion, one that the Shield doesn’t even glance over at, still locking eyes with Ignis.  

Nimble fingers tap on his shoulder and Ignis’s throat clears. “We should go. There’s a lot to discuss… Even further than I thought initially. I already went over with Gladio a few of the details of how we should proceed from here and I think you’ll find them rather suitable, Noctis.” 

A second to rise, he shrugs, shoving hands in rumpled pockets.

“Yeah, whatever.” Ignis isn’t his concern right now. Ignis isn’t the one that’s going to be pervading his thoughts for the rest of the night, for the rest of his upcoming swing into a text-book Alpha nightmare. His jaw works, mulling around the ashen taste surfacing on his tongue. Guilt, this must be what guilt tastes like… Thick, heavy, and yet barren of any substance. It’s not much better than despair. “Hey, Prom, listen I – “ 

“No, dude, i-it was my fault. I shouldn’t have…”  Prompto works to move, for a second and it seems as if he’ll almost make it to the end of the bed to grasp at him.  Wishful thinking as a tattooed arm snakes around his middle, dragging him back with little effort.

Gladio grunts, squeezing lightly as a warning, “If you say you’re sorry one more time, Chocobo, I swear.” 

There’s a squeeze to his own shoulder, digits rounding the berth of literal manifested tension. “He’ll be fine with Gladio. Let’s go.” The taller’s voice is positively gentle this time around, perhaps it’s because he too witnesses the shuffle and squawking happening a mere three feet away.  Gladio’s too close, too teasing, too everything for a heartbeat but Prompto is smiling, batting and shoving in a half-assed way that exudes relaxation unto him.

“You don’t need to keep saying that,” he murmurs, already moving towards the door. He’s getting used to leaving this room, he thinks – without Prompto.

“Allow me the courtesy, Noct. After all, you are my charge.”   Oh, that again -- it's a surprise he hasn't eye rolled himself into another astral plane at this point.  

“And you must love your job, right?” Snarky timbre, his teeth clack together. 

“Well, the fringe benefits are certainly nice.” Ignis chuckles.

“-- Tch.”   

Still, Ignis is on his heels and at his side in moments, ushering both of them out the door and into the hallway. It’s easier to breathe out here somehow, despite his newly found escort and the buzzing hum of fluorescent lights. It smells of old glue and moldy wallpaper, nothing like dried flowers -- stale, twinging with sterility against the lapsing warmth from beyond a now closed door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking eons on this chapter. As you may be able to tell, it was particularly difficult for me to write, hence the delay. Noctis's personality and point of view ( despite playing the entire game as him ) isn't something I can get into the headspace of. 
> 
> The next chapter will be up sooner rather than later and a little sultry flashback for your troubles via Prompto. 
> 
> Comments/kudos are greatly appreciated (and they make me smile, giving me a sense of validation ngl)!


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